


The Siege

by TheTechPriest824



Category: Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k
Genre: 40k, I don’t know what I’m even typing anymore, One-Shot, Short Story, Warhammer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27274744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTechPriest824/pseuds/TheTechPriest824
Summary: On a forgotten world, the imperium’s finest Astartes chapter breaks against The Death Guard...A 40k One-Shot
Kudos: 1





	The Siege

The Imperium’s forces started their assault on our fortress again. But this third wave was different. At first, they send their mortal soldiers to try and break us. They failed again, and again. Then came the third wave. Instead of having their troops deployed from troop transports, the third wave came in pods that drop in from high orbit. Most were shot down before evening hitting the ground. I looked closely at a drop-pods that crashed and I frowned at what I saw. Those pods had the insignia of an upside-down Omega symbol. I knew that Imperium had summoned their finest Astartes, the Ultramarines. I took aim at an injured and dying Astartes leaning against the destroyed drop-pod.  


I pulled the trigger. I felt the recoil in my right arm as my bolt pistol fired point-blank into the helmet of the dying Astartes of the Ultramarines.

It rains brain matter and molten metal as the Ultramarines helmet is discharged from his once-living body onto the cancerous soil of our plague filled world. After a moment, I look around to study the assault of our fortress to Nurgle, grandfather of plague and disease. The unclean and poisonous air to those blessed by Nurgle is...exhilarating. The putrid smell of the rotting flesh, decomposing corpses both recent and past. Even the diseased abominations, who want nothing but to spread the gift of Nurgle throughout the galaxy. Crowds of my fellow plague marines march once again to the battlefield, I see that one of my brothers has mutated to where a tendril limb is worming its way out of his mouth. The assault against our great fortress has been held back for now, but there are four stranglers left.  
  
_“ONLY IN DEATH DOES DUTY EN-”_ a shout from an Ultramarine was cut off for then he started coughing as the green mist that filled the air shrouded him. I looked on pure satisfaction as the marine threw his hands to his throat in vain, trying to breathe. I looked for the cause and the source of this phenomenon, but I only saw our Daemon Primarch. The Primarch hovers over the ground on unholy wings with his right hand raised and extended, green swirls of energy with darkening highlights seem to just shroud the poor Ultramarine Sergeant, currently choking him to death. _Forget no insult, my sons, as I have never forgotten those of my father, of the Emperor. Forgive no slight or grievance. Hold your bitterness deep within, and there let it fester. Let it roil and squirm and churn until you are filled with bile so poisonous that all you touch falls to ruin. Thus shall you serve Nurgle best. Thus shall you spread his virulent gifts across the false Imperium, and watch its final rotting,_ the Daemon Primarchs words echo through my head as he kills the Ultramarine. I still see the blood drain from the marine’s helmet along with what appears to be an eye. The rest of the survivors look on in what I can only assume is of horror, that their battle-brother has been slain before their very eyes. _“We are the boil on the face of reality. And we will fester! We will spread the gifts and blessings of Nurgle! Hail Chaos!”_ I shout to rally my plague bearers. They begin to scream, moan, some even gurgle. Those able to speak shouted one phrase again and again, _“Hail Chaos!”_


End file.
